So speaking of elder wisdom, I just made pirogis for your Polish grandma. I made pirogis just so I can learn how to make pirogis, so I could make them for your grandma should I ever meet her, and I did pretty damn well, I must say so. Pirogi dough is hard to handle, a little bit feisty, albeit simple. Doesn’t have the staying power of a buttered Pâte brisée, which I also made tonight. Just makes me smile, and I had to make myself smile today. Among other things I did for pure pleasure in quarantine was brush up my cooking skills. Among the oft-heard loaf of bread (I’ve also made a few) I delved into the realm of fermentation, sauerkraut and pickles, trying to get used to the lacto-fermented flavor while making myself believe in its health benefits. Countless pots of soup. And then muffins, scones, cookies, often improvised and substituted, composed with what’s on hand for breakfast, or else just because I love to share.
Love to share.
Why else do we make little pockets of dough and fill them with things? A lump of gluten and a pile of fillings could possibly be the same thing once it gets to our stomach. But then there’s all that love, the composition and rolling it out, pinching it together. Anyone who’s ever made raviolis or pirogis knows, it is a labor of love, more than even flavor. Because truth be told, you can get them in the most grocery stores, good raviolis anyway. If I had found pirogis last night I would have bought them, and started writing at 10:30pm, instead of 12:30am, after having a midnight meal of borscht and fresh pan-crisped mushroom sauerkraut pirogis, which turned out surprisingly good. Different that I would have imagined. More like a pirogi than a ravioli. Somehow they really are different.
Yogurt in the dough. That’s the secret.
But anyway, while I’m sharing, then there’s your french butter crust, good for quiche and such things; add a Tablespoon of sugar and maybe an egg and then you’ve got a rich pie crust for apples or berries. These are both different than empanadas, surprisingly. With empanadas it’s not about cold butter. They’re not meant to be flaky so much as durable. When the point is being able to hold them in your pocket, function and form take over.
All these ways we roll out dough and fill it with the contents of our heart. Put our heart in our pocket.
Trevor Noah goes to Soweto to see his grandmother and it was so candid. She’s 91 and 9 months. Just happy to be alive. Bulletproof memory, that’s her superpower. She and her girls, they’ve lived through things.
The Beloved Community.
(he was an energetic and mostly naughty child)
She laughs at him when he asks if she’s seen his television show, if she’s want to fly across the ocean, and I envy her reality, that she laughs and says no to both.
Why is it that some humans feel compelled to fly over oceans, and others don’t?
Why is it that some humans are compelled to travel across oceans, and others won’t?
We light the blue and gold tonight; we are celebrating.
Listen to all the voice. Pick a Right, Just path.
Carpe Momentum, the Governor says, once again.
Education, housing, healthcare; that is where it starts.
Inequity is fundamental insanity. We spend $50,000 for a person to live in a prison cell. That is more than the tuition at Harvard. It is a reverse set of priorities. Reverse and calculated. Paying to maintain the structures of our fears. Disinfecting our fears with UV lighting.
Is the Metro really safe, asks a reporter? In response the Governor gets on the train, has a photo-op, just like the President and his borrowed bible, except this time it’s the Governor in a Mask on the MTA. Lead by example.
Are you a cynic, my friend?
Are you a pessimist, my friend?
This is what we call equal opportunity.
Our mutual exhaustion. Dealing with the unknown, the daily rhetoric. The JOY of our interaction and dialogue. Maybe you have more Joy than me, the Governor says. I don’t know, maybe we can discuss it over a beer sometime.
(Learning how to experience more Joy seems to be one of the secondary aspects of this curriculum)
I’m so proud to be a New Yorker, even from afar.
When things are tough, New Yorkers are tougher.
Perhaps some would say that’s aggressive.
But you can’t be inauthentic in New York.
Congratulations, we are back.
We are back.
Day 100 since the first case.
Today New York City is back open.
What did I say to you when you asked me the first time?
(I just enjoy being alive)
It’s over.
I took action.
It hasn’t happened again. It’s over.
Beware of the spikes to come…
Last word for me, (and that is)
Loving.